


The Amontillado Case

by alutiv



Category: POE Edgar Allan - Works, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, LWS Challenge 6 - Horror, Ladies of Sherlock, Let’s Write Sherlock, LoS Challenge One - Come As You Are, NSY Crime Museum, Retelling Poe, Taking Liberties with NSY Architecture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alutiv/pseuds/alutiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I heard a rumour once,” he mused, “about evidence from that Amontillado case that had to be taken out of the Museum and stuck in storage somewhere. But what of it?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It was altogether too easy to see when Anderson was trying to play it cool. Sally grinned, reaching inside the neckline of the catsuit and withdrawing a key from its hiding place in her bra. Anderson’s eyes widened as they followed the motion. “I think,” Sally murmured, “that we should go take a look for ourselves.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amontillado Case

Balloons and streamers festooned the canteen at New Scotland Yard, and music thumped out of a massive set of speakers. Sally Donovan adjusted her black silk mask, but it cut into her peripheral vision no matter what angle she tried. She finally gave it up as a bad job, peering through the eyeholes at her costumed colleagues milling around. Most of them were chatting, laughing, drinking, or all three, while a few brave souls danced near the centre of the room. Past the dancers, near the far wall, Anderson had his back to her, talking to PC Williams. The new Constable was gazing at him intently, brushing a hand lightly over his arm, tossing her red hair when she laughed. Sally knocked back the last of her gin and tonic. In a quick glance around the room, Sally could spot two other women wearing the same pirate costume as Williams. It looked good on her, Sally had to give her that much. 

Sally joined the crowd around the bar and ordered two bottles of beer, tugging at the black fabric snugly fitted over her thigh as she went. The Catwoman costume was Anderson’s idea, naturally. He was dressed as the Joker, with black trousers, green waistcoat, and a purple jacket providing comfortable coverage, while her lycra jumpsuit left almost nothing to the imagination.  She pursed her lips as she crossed the room, bottles clinking against each other in her hand. She caught Williams’ eye over Anderson’s shoulder. Williams blushed, ducked her head, and scurried away. Anderson turned around, a real grin forming behind the messy painted one. There was sweat beading along his hairline, smudging the edges of the heavy white makeup. 

“I was wondering where you got to,” he said, his tone just shy of petulant. 

“Didn’t look like you were too lonely,” Donovan answered. She pushed one of the cold bottles into his hand. 

“What?” he asked. His attempt at an innocent expression through the broad red grin was disconcerting. He followed her gaze across the room to where Williams stood chatting with someone in a knight costume (possibly Dimmock, but it was hard to tell), then turned his eyes back to her. “She hardly knows anyone yet. I didn’t want to be rude.” 

Sally sipped her beer, swallowing the words she would have liked to say along with the amber liquid. “No,” she said, finally, “you’re always very… friendly… to all your colleagues.” 

He shifted closer to her, the hem of his jacket brushing against her leg, and slid his free hand around her waist. “Sally,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, “you know you’re the only colleague I want.” 

She pulled away, dragging a couple flyaway strands of her hair from the makeup. God, but he was predictable. Always ready with a reassurance or an apology, and always needing to offer one or the other. Again. She picked at the damp label on the bottle. 

“The Freak said something interesting the other day,” she said. She kept her eyes fixed on the bottle in her hand, but she could feel Anderson sneering. 

“Really?” 

She nodded. “You know the Crime Museum, yeah?” 

“Of course. No surprise he’d be interested in that. Probably looking for inspiration.” 

Sally snorted. “He said he’s never been inside. Never managed to get himself an invitation, apparently.” 

“He’d wait for an invitation? Would have thought he’d find a way to break in.” 

Sally shrugged and took another sip. “The thing is, it’s not really the stuff in the Museum he’s interested in.” 

“Too tame for him?” 

“Something like that,” Sally said, dropping her voice and leaning closer, leery of the make-up. “He swears there’s some sort of archive in the basement, and they’re keeping some really old stuff down there, things too disturbing for the museum.” 

Anderson made a dismissive noise in his throat. “What, like the Met’s hiding things now? I never took him for one of those conspiracy nutters.” 

Sally shook her head. “I don’t think it’s like that. Think about it. Is it really all that farfetched to think that there might be evidence saved from early days that someone might think too… _salacious_ for the Met to have on display?” 

He took another pull at his beer, and Sally watched his expression shift as he thought about her question. “I heard a rumour once,” he mused, “about evidence from that Amontillado case that had to be taken out of the Museum and stuck in storage somewhere. But what of it?” 

It was altogether too easy to see when Anderson was trying to play it cool. Sally grinned, reaching inside the neckline of the catsuit and withdrawing a key from its hiding place in her bra. Anderson’s eyes widened as they followed the motion. “I think,” Sally murmured, “that we should go take a look for ourselves.” 

“Where’d you get a key to the archives?” he asked. 

She dropped her head slightly, looking at him through her lashes. The mask spoiled the effect a bit. “Not important,” she said. “I thought it might come in handy. We can go down and take a look, just you and me.” 

Anderson swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It’s all just rumours,” he said. “Could be all that’s down there is filing cabinets and empty offices.” 

“You’re right about that.” She grinned wickedly. She set her half-empty bottle on a table and fairly stalked across the room. Anderson nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to follow. 

The music from the party faded behind them. Sally heard Anderson’s shuffling steps pause at the lifts, but she kept walking, beckoning with one hand. He caught up with her at the door to the stairwell. 

“The lifts only go down one level,” she said, pushing the heavy door open. “There’s just stair access to the levels lower than that.” The door closed behind them, cutting off the last strains of music from the party. The click of her boot heels echoed in the sudden quiet. After the bright overhead lights of the hallway, the lighting in the stairwell was sickly yellow and rather dim. She pulled the mask off, but something still seemed to flicker in the corner of her eye only to vanish when she tried to get a better look. 

She paused on the landing, leaning against the cinderblock wall, dangling the black mask from one hand, trying not to think of what kind of vermin might have decided the subterranean levels of NSY would make a snug and cosy home. As soon as Anderson had both feet on the same landing, she surged forward, dropped the mask to the floor, wrapped both hands around his arms, and pushed him against the wall. The force of her lips on his ground the back of his head against the rough surface. His lips parted, and she plunged her tongue into his mouth, tasting beer and kebab and that horrible nicotine gum. She let his tongue slide into her mouth, sucking on it, just enough pressure to pull a moan from his throat. Greasy makeup smeared over her skin. She released him and stepped back. His eyes were closed, his lips still parted, waiting. She picked up the mask from the floor, wrapped the elastic around her wrist like the world’s most awkward charm bracelet, and turned toward the next flight of stairs. He muttered a curse, but his footsteps followed hers. He was panting slightly when they reached the final landing and approached an unmarked door. His breath was hot on the back of her neck as she slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. 

She let him pass into the dark hallway first. She closed the door gently behind them and tucked the key back into her bra. She crowded in close and slipped her hand into his trouser pocket, lips quirking into a shadow of a smile at the way his spine stiffened. She withdrew his keyring and switched on the mini-torch he carried. Dust motes danced in the tiny shaft of light as they walked. Everything was cold grey concrete down here. It looked like it could have served as shelter in the Blitz, even though the building missed the war by almost thirty years. She walked a pace ahead of Anderson and shivered against the cold, then started at a touch to the back of her neck. She turned to see Anderson smiling at her as he adjusted his jacket over her shoulders. 

“Now you’ll be cold,” she said. 

He dropped his hands and puffed up his chest a bit. “I’m fine.” He retrieved the beer bottle he had set on the floor so he could remove his jacket and kept moving forward. 

“We could come back another time,” she offered. 

He was already three steps ahead. “Nah,” he called back. “We’ve come this far.” 

“Your wish,” she said. She disentangled the mask from her wrist and shoved it into one of the jacket’s oversized pockets before pushing her arms through the sleeves. She caught up to him, and they walked to the end of the hall in silence but for the sharp sound of her heels against the concrete and his occasional swallow of beer. At the end of the hallway was another door, which she pushed open to reveal another stairwell. This one had no lighting at all. He pressed in close to her, following the little beam of the torch down the stairs. The door at the bottom was unlocked, but the squeal of the hinges made both of them cringe. 

“How much farther?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “Not really sure. Maybe we should go back up to the party. Probably nothing to see down here, after all.” 

He grinned at her, a flash of teeth in the dark. “I can think of something I’d like to see down here.” He leered and curled an arm around her waist, under the jacket. 

With a smile, she pushed past him through the doorway. “All right, then,” she said. “If you insist.” 

The door banged shut behind them. 

The echoes were different here. Sally shone the torch in a wide arc, revealing rows of metal bars with tile walls beyond them. 

“Holding cells?” asked Anderson. 

Sally nodded. The light wavered, and she tightened her grip. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. 

“I thought those were a rumour, too. Maybe there really is stuff stored down here, then.” His eyes were wide and bright, and they reminded her of a child on Christmas morning, or of a puppy. Or maybe a child who had just been promised a puppy for Christmas. 

She made a noncommittal noise and fell a pace or two back, so that he reached the end of the hall first. The cell directly in front of them stood open. The light from the mini-torch travelled over the empty bunk, the dirty tile, the hole in the floor, the cardboard box near the far wall. Anderson strolled inside and crouched next to the box, peering inside, empty beer bottle still dangling from his fingers. 

“Bring that torch over here, would you?” He reached into the box with his free hand and withdrew a revolver, turning it this way and that as he stood. 

The cell door shut with a loud clang. The beer bottle crashed to the floor. Anderson looked up, meeting Sally’s eyes between the bars. 

“Very funny,” he said. 

“Is it?” Her voice was colder than the concrete. Her heart still thumped beneath her ribs, but her hands were steady. 

“Oh, for the love of God, Sally.” He stepped toward her, shards of glass crunching under his shoes. 

She took two steps back. 

“Let me out of here, Sally,” he said. “Joke’s gone on long enough.” 

 She laughed. It was dry, bitter, and a shudder visibly went through him at the sound. 

“What the hell are you playing at?” His voice was rough. He banged the butt of the revolver against the bars. 

“I’d be careful with that gun,” she said. “It is loaded.” 

He looked at the weapon in his hand, eyes widening. 

“There’s only one bullet in it, though,” she continued, taking another step back. “I’m leaving now.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“I know,” she said, a little sadly, because they weren’t really talking about the same thing. They never were. “It’s up to you what you do with that. You could shoot me before I leave. Even if you didn’t shoot to kill, I’d probably bleed out on the floor. Or you could save that bullet for yourself. Like I said, it’s up to you. It always has been.” 

His eyes still fixed on her, holding the revolver like it might fire of its own volition, he patted his trouser pockets with his free hand. 

She reached into the jacket pocket, underneath the mask, and took out his phone. She held it up. “Is this what you’re looking for?” 

His eyes darted around the cell. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 

She dropped her gaze from his face to the phone in her hand. “Low battery. You really ought to make sure your phone’s charged before you go out, you know. Might not miss so many calls that way. Not that there’s any reception down here.” She crouched down and shoved the phone toward him. The plastic casing scraped across the concrete and clattered against one of the steel bars. “I guess you could play some Angry Birds. For a little while, anyway.” 

She turned and walked away from the cell, back to the door at the end of the hall, wiping the smear of makeup off her face with the sleeve of the jacket. She listened for shouts, screams, promises, threats, anything, but he was silent behind her. She opened the door halfway and paused. 

She called his name, just once. He didn’t answer. A shiver crawled up her spine, and she clamped her jaw shut to stop her teeth chattering. It was cold, and she could feel a headache forming behind her eyes. They were already watering from the dust. 

She passed through the door, letting it slam behind her. Three stairs up, she wasn’t cold anymore. She was warm, too warm, sweating under the jacket. She clawed it off as she climbed and dropped it on the next landing. She took another two stairs, then turned back. She pulled the mask from the pocket and put it on before kicking the jacket into the corner. She almost ran up the rest of the stairs.  
  


His wife filed the Missing Person report on Sunday. Lestrade called Sally into his office Monday afternoon. A copy of the report was spread out on his desk. He waited while she paged through it. 

“Donovan,” he said, then paused, looking around as if the right words might be printed on the wall somewhere, “is there anything… anything at all… that you think I ought to know?” 

Sally shook her head, eyes all wide innocence. “I thought he was on holiday with his wife this week. The last time I saw him was the party. ” 

Lestrade nodded. “She says he never came home from the party.” 

She blinked hard, as if holding back tears. 

Lestrade’s expression broke, and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was hoping maybe you knew where he was.” 

She shook her head and turned away, covering her eyes with her hand. “Sir,” she said, breath hitching, “if it’s all right….” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said quickly. “Go on home. Get some rest.” 

Sally nodded and left his office. She gathered her purse and coat from her desk and left without a word to anyone else. Instead of pressing the button for the lift, she ducked into the stairwell and descended, bypassing the ground level. At the lowest landing, she stopped and pressed her palm to the door. “Rest,” she whispered. “Rest in peace.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A little retelling of Poe's [The Cask of Amontillado](http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/POE/cask.html) for Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 6 (Horror), with Sally Donovan in costume for the Ladies of Sherlock Challenge 1 ("Come as You Are").
> 
> Beta-read by the fabulous Anarfea. Any remaining errors or issues are mine.


End file.
